


Love Is Love, No Matter Which Greek Word It Is

by TwiExMachina



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Ambiguously Platonic Relationships, Cuddling & Snuggling, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Platonic Relationships, playing with hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 08:03:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5860774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwiExMachina/pseuds/TwiExMachina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varona knew a lot of things.  Love wasn't one of them, whether platonic, familiar, or romantic.  Affection wasn't one of them either, but that was fine.  It was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Is Love, No Matter Which Greek Word It Is

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't think I was invested in Sloan and Varona's relationship but then I helped a woman with a Russian accent at work and I got a vision of them ambiguously platonic cuddling so that's a thing.
> 
> I'm sorry in advance if I get Sloan and Varona's diction wrong. I haven't had time to rewatch the anime and I've been procrastinating getting this up for almost a week now.

"Ach, well, all's fair in love and war," Sloan said as he sniped at a man that his lover contracted them to kill. It was a joke because they were supposed to be in love but he cheated on her multiple times despite the fact that she was rich enough to hire Russian hit men to kill him and everyone he has cheated on her with, much like an act of war. It was not a very funny joke. After Varona checked to make sure the man was indeed dead, she went back to her book. Sloan lowered his rifle and put it next to her binoculars. "What does that mean? Who could come up with such a thing? Love is not like war, it is much more light and fluffy. Ach, this will bother me."

"While I disagree with your assessment of love—"

"What? Why?"

"Earliest origin of phrase 1579 from a poet. Is referring to a romantic notion that nothing is too terrible or great in both love and war."

Sloan nodded, looked away, then looked back at Varona. "What was comment about personal opinion about?"

"Love and war very similar in aspects."

"In no aspects!" Sloan retorted.

"Both are cold. All happiness must be hard fought. Happiness perhaps not worth the fight."

Sloan was silent, which should've been a welcome change, but it burned her skin. She scratched her arm, but the itch didn't fade. "Is all forms of love like that for you?"

"Is the only love. There are no other forms."

Sloan looked at her sadly. 

That was all wrong, and she felt anger warm her blood. "What?" she snapped, slapping her book down on her legs.

"Is very foreign, this pity I feel for you."

In an instant, the heat was gone and replaced with ice.

"You know so much about so many things. I admire that. Is just sad that this is something you don't know." Sloan started disassembling his rifle and putting it away.

She found her voice when his rifle was away. "Is not sad."

"Is."

\---

Sloan did not treat her like the others did. That was because he was a simple-minded fool, she was sure. He was only capable of positive thoughts and emotions. He liked her. From the moment he met her. It wasn't strange for people to admire her fighting skill, because she was skilled, but no one appreciated her mind, not really. But he was curious and confident in her knowledge.

She told him about her past. About her first kill. He said she was strong. There was no pity then, no nonsense about an innocent and pure girl being bloodstained. Just that she was clever. That such a thing should be expected from someone like her.

And yet there was pity because of her limited view of love. How'd that make sense? Well, she'd show him limited with four volumes in her head.

"The Greeks had four words to describe love. First is Agape, brotherly and spiritual love. Eros is intimate love. Plato said that Eros does not require intimacy, rather appreciation of person entirely. This origin of word platonic. Philia is the love between equals. Is regarded as dispassionate. Here is your milkshake." Varona was not good at segueways.

Sloan stared at her as he took the milkshake from her. "Okay."

"All forms of love are silly. I know now because I read about it. We have no need for this."

Sloan was still watching her. He hadn't drunk his milkshake yet and condensation was running around his fingers.

"What?"

He opened his mouth and she knew that it was happening again, that he was going to pity her again and that should not happen, she knew he should never look at her like that. "Love is not thing you can read about and know about. Is not facts. Is emotions, is feeling. You cannot read and understand feeling."

"Emotions just brain firing. Is chemistry. I understand perfectly."

"Do you read about karate and are good at karate immediately?"

She wanted to say yes, because that's who she was, the girl who read everything and could do everything. But things took time and muscle memory did not function on brain power alone. So she didn't say anything.

Sloan took her silence as a 'yes'. "Is more so with emotions. You have to experience it."

"And have you experienced it?"

Sloan grinned and put his hands on his hips. "Yes. I love you."

Varona knew that if the world stopped, everyone would be flung at 1100 miles per hour, and that was impossible to ever happen and for her to still be standing. But the world did freeze around her and the only other thing moving was Sloan.

And he was still talking. "I don't know which Greek love it is. But I don't think it matters."

"You have to know. Love is different. You...there's so many." She struggled with language, the words heavy on her tongue and scrambled in her head. She wasn't even sure if she was speaking the same language throughout. They all sounded wrong to her ringing ears.

"But I admire you, and seeing you work makes me incredibly happy. I could watch forever. Seeing you walk towards me makes me content. Nothing that you do, just knowing that you're there. This is love. Friendship love or lovers love? Doesn't matter. I don't care. I'm in love with you and the world is right."

Varona turned in her heel and marched to her bike. Over the ringing in her ears, she heard Sloan yelling at her. Stop it. No more words. It didn't make sense. She needed to get away, to only hear the road, only to feel the wind.

When she got back, Sloan was holding her helmet. "You should be careful. If you'd fallen…"

She glanced over at his milkshake sitting on the bench, peering inside. He didn't drink any of it. "I would not have."

"Accidents happen."

She took the helmet and marched into the van.

\---

Varona's father did not love her. The sky was also blue. Both were facts of life.

She was a stranger to affection. So she didn't know how to react to Sloan's confession or how to act around him. It was annoying because she was so sure she didn't care. What he felt was his business. It didn't matter to her. But she found herself glancing at him from time to time. She wasn't sure what she was checking up on, but one time she noticed his knife was sticking out of his clothes. She pointed it out and he hastily tucked it away. Then he grinned at her and thanked her and Varona felt herself relax. She didn't know why.

Then they were in a gunfight. It was simple, and she lost herself in the adrenaline. Then the window shattered and Varona saw blood as Sloan fell back. And she screamed. The world shrunk down to Sloan and bursts of red. She pulled him against the wall, in cover.

"Is fine, all good," Sloan groaned. "Shoulder wound not bad."

“There are many blood vessels in the shoulder and many nerves and a very delicate joint—”

"Is fine. We—" he pushed his hand against his shoulder harder and gasped "—both had worse."

They had worked together long enough to experience it, dressed each other's wounds often enough to understand it, seen each other's scars to infer. These were facts, truths, absolutes that told her not to panic but fear was all she felt in the sight of red.

Sloan was right. She didn't know much about love. What she did know was that it was irrational, that it made people do stupid things. So many people were willing to die for their friends, willing to kill themselves to be with their lover. It was stupid and foolish and brought no good. She didn't need love, didn't need fluffy warm chemicals making her irrational. She continued to fight. Her kills were sloppy, and a bullet grazed her arm. This was unlike her. They won, they made it back to the van, but it tasted bitter on her tongue. Everything was wrong.

Varona fished the bullet out of Sloan's shoulder. He was counting under his breath to distract himself as she cleaned and stitched the wound shut. "We were clumsy tonight," Varona said.

"Ach, happens. Any damage can be painfully fixed up back home."

Everything about them could be replaced as far as their organization was concerned, muscles sewn together to retain movement, organs replaced when they started to affect their performance. They were like machines. And that thought did not fit as well as it should have.

Sloan didn't bother with a shirt, instead putting on a jacket and leaving it open. The nudity didn't bother her. There was nothing special about it, never was, but she seemed more aware of it. She removed her shirt so Sloan could stitch up her arm and waited to see how he reacted, if his love affected him. Nudity was something people in love were a fan of.

He didn't seem to care. It was just her then. "You seem off today."

"Is your fault."

"Mine?"

"Yes. You say such foolish things and I cannot stop thinking. Is distracting. I am constantly thinking about you and thinking of...everything."

Sloan was silent for a moment, just sewing the gash shut. 

She spoke again, her voice softer. "Have your hands always been warm?"

Sloan looked at her and she felt off, like she wasn't in her element. She had never felt that. Everywhere was her element. He withdrew his hands. "You seem to be mad that I'm making you feel emotions."

"Yes. I am." She raised her fist and brought it down onto his shoulder, hard enough to make her arm shake, but gentle enough that Sloan didn't move. "Stop it." She brought her fist down in the same place. "I do not want this." Again, same place, he'd probably bruise. "I do not want you." Again and he still didn't move. "I do not want to lose you." Again and his eyes widened and he whispered her name. "You are so stupid." Again, and her eyes started to prick. "You should not have gotten hit." Again, and she didn't know why she was still talking. "What am I supposed to do without you?"

Sloan grabbed her wrist before she could bring it down. His hand slid up her hand, plying her fingers apart so his hand could fit under hers. He touched her hair and gently pulled on the strand, letting his fingers slide down to the ends and then he pressed on her hair again. It felt soothing, but she was still shaking. "Is alright, Varona. Is okay to feel."

"You should have never told me. Is better not knowing."

"True. But is nice to be able to relax."

"There is no relaxation. Only stress."

"You haven't had a chance to relax. Never."

The way he said it, it almost sounded like he was referring to the entirety of her life and not the time since his confession. "Why are you doing that thing with my hair?"

"Has no one played with your hair?"

She scoffed and shook her head. He stopped moving his hand and just held it loose.

"Pity. You have wonderful hair."

"Is this what people in love do?"

"I guess. Played with Mama’s hair long ago. Watched friends braid hair."

She had seen that too. "Why you stop?"

"Do you want me to continue?"

"Yes."

He started at her scalp, dragging his fingers down her hair. She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. "Feel nice?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to cuddle?"

Varona opened her eyes and stared at him.

"Too much? Then you should put shirt on. You're goosebumping."

"You are only suggesting sharing warmth?"

"Yes. The physical and the emotional."

"I do see people of all relationships sharing the same space. I am not opposed to concept." Varona was already letting him touch her hair. She might as well try it. "How do you want me?"

Sloan scratched his cheek, then let go of her hand. She supposed he was holding onto her the entire time. "Move back please." She stood up and watched him slide off the couch and onto the floor. He shifted until he was comfortable, legs slightly spread. He patted the space there as he leaned back against the couch. "Sit here. If okay, of course."

He did not specify which way. If she sat facing him, it'd be too much like hugging. The face-to-face conversation was getting exhausting anyway. She stood in the space and crouched down, planting her hands on her knees. She stayed stiff for a couple moments, then leaned back into Sloan's chest. He was an uncomfortable chair, not too soft, too many bones. But she felt content nevertheless. His hand returned to threading their way through her hair and she sighed and let the wary stiffness in her bones smooth out. She rested her head back against his uninjured shoulder and sighed. "This is nice."

"Your hair smells good."

"Is same shampoo you use."

"You make it smell better."

She scoffed. "Do you want to hold my hand again?" she asked as she held her hand over her shoulder for him. 

"You sure?"

"I am not opposed to it."

He slid his fingers down hers, into her palm, touching her pulse before he swept his hand to the side and held hers. "Is this position awkward for you too?"

"Yes." She moved her hand to her knee, palm up, and his hand fell into hers. This time, he linked their fingers together. She stared at his hand, how it fit, then raised her free hand to run her fingers over his knuckles. His hands seemed far more interesting than usual. They had the same construction, his were just bigger.

"You were worried earlier."

"Yes. Is dangerous job we do."

"You afraid I would die?"

"Yes. I am attached to you. Are you not fearful for me?"

"You are strongest in the world. But yes. Life without you would be like overcast night. Whatever is worth seeing is grim."

She hadn't thought about what would be after his death, just fearful that it could happen. She closed her eyes and thought of life without Sloan, without his questions, his presence. She tilted her nose towards his neck and opened her eyes.

"Varona?"

"I see nothing."

**Author's Note:**

> If you're somehow reading this, feel free to go on my tumblr at [TwiExMachina](http://www.twiexmachina.tumblr.com)!


End file.
